It's no secret to anyone that Austria has been married many times, to many nations. And it's no secret to those nations that he tends to get very attached to his role as husband. He loved his marriages, and the people he was in them with. He remembers all of them. They were all different, but the same n one special way, but we'll get to that later.
The first one he ever married was Holy Rome. He doesn't talk about it, not ever. It was an awkward union, and hardly any kind of union, at that. They'd hated each other, and Austria had continued to demand power and privilege until he'd nearly taken over all the boy's land, then failed to defend him against France, resulting in his... husband's death. Yet, despite this, he keeps the tarnished gold ring in a locked box in his room.
After his marriage to the child, but before the blonde's death, there was Prussia. Though, when he thought about it, he was the Teutonic Knights at the time. They were children, clumsy and nervous at the ceremony. Prussia had given him a brass ring Austria was certain he'd gotten from broken chain mail, bent so it would fit on his tiny finger. Austria had sneered at it at first, but immediately comforted the young knight afterwards, assuring him that of course he liked the ring. He'd never liked seeing Prussia cry, even afterwards.
Prussia had loved him the way a knight did: loyal and brave. He'd never hesitated to jump in front of Austria when he was in danger. He knew his job: keep Austria safe, and Austria would keep him alive. After a feat of particular daring or skill, he would always tease Austria for a kiss, reluctantly given him, and then tease him once more for his blushing cheeks. They were innocent and stupidly in love, no matter how much they annoyed each other.
Austria still wears this ring on his little finger, the only place it can fit, though it cuts into his finger and turns it green. Because of this, Prussia still teases him, but he doesn't mind it.
After the Teutonic Knights died out and their marriage dissolved, Austria married Hungary. It was a marriage of necessity, needed to protect himself against the very boy-turned-man he'd once loved. Despite the circumstances, he grew fond of her, very fond, and their union lasted many ages.
Hungary, like Prussia, had always protected him, defended him. And despite how she was feared on the battlefield, she was a wonderful caretaker to the young Italy. They were together through nearly all his other unions, his longest running marriage. She loved him totally, completely, like he was the only one on Earth for her. He loved her like a dear friend and sister. It was his favorite marriage, he'd admit. When they'd been told of the divorce plans, they had spent the entire night in each other's arms, crying. They's promised to remain friends.
Even now, Austria keeps the ring she'd given him on his ring finger, where it bumps the old iron ring and they tarnish each other. They are still, both of them, beautiful.
While still married to Hungary, Austria had been taken as Spain's husband, having sent a Hapsburg princess to the adventurous country's home. When he thought back to this time, he remembered sleepless nights in his monthly visits to Spain's home. He remembered heat and passion and love in the nights they shared. How proud he had been to be called Hapsburg!
He remembered hating the man, truly hating him, until the night he'd first heard Spain play guitar. He had dismissed the instrument as one that required too much effort to master for the simplistic, uncouth music it offered. Until he heard Spain play. He had been taken aback at the absolute beauty that had come from the instrument at Antonio's hands. He immediately demanded the Spaniard teach him. But the night he truly fell in love with the pirate was the first night he'd had a terrible nightmare about one thing or another, and Spain had held him through the night, singing him to sleep and he'd woken up tight in the Spaniard's arms, feeling safe and warm.
Austria admired Spain for his musical skills and his tenderness like he'd never admired another person before. He admired how Spain had loved him: possessive, fiercely, like Austria belonged to him and him alone. He loved like a pirate. And when the Hapsburg Dynasty fell, he'd turned on his husband and beaten him badly, along with Prussia, whom Austria had loved once, and France, who he'd love in the coming century.
There had been no ring from Spain. He'd brought back many from his expeditions in the New World, but deemed none of them good enough. Instead, the morning after Spain left, there had been a new guitar right next to his piano. He'll never tell anyone, but he never loved another instrument like he loved that one. Spain knows, though.
The Hapsburg house had fallen, and many years later, France had decided to take Austria's favorite young princess for his own Crown Prince. Marie had been satisfied with the marriage, so Austria hadn't complained. France had been charming and flamboyant, like his friend. But Austria hadn't been taken in. It wasn't until he saw how France loved him that he softened toward him.
France loved completely, baring everything and becoming utterly vulnerable. Their first night together, the night they consummated their marriage, he'd been shocked to find how gentle and caring his new husband had been with him, slow and gentle, never pushing or forcing, no matter how forceful he himself had gotten. Like Louis had given the young Antoinette everything she asked for, so France catered to all Austria's whims. And Austria had been horrified to learn exactly what he'd cost the other. He tried to help, tried to save France's monarchy, but he'd failed. As soon as this marriage had started, it had ended with the foolishness of a young queen and her mother country.
They watched the guillotine fall together. Hands laced together tightly, Austria flinched as the sick thud against the bloodstained wood. He had been the one to comfort France that night. While he cried for his lost princess, it was France who had felt the blow of a destroyed nation. After many years, France had built himself up again with Monsieur Napoleon and gone after Austria. Austria had failed to protect Holy Rome, and, beaten badly, had surrendered to France, and sealed the child's doom.
He had hated France for so long after that. He had locked away the gold band, but hadn't the heart to throw it away. After many years, the pain of France's betrayal had faded away, and he strung the band on a gold chain. Under the cravat he wore every day, if you caught him move in just the right way, you could see a glint of gold.
He did not marry after that. He'd formed alliances, been invaded and partitioned many times over the years, but he never married. After the travesty of the World Wars, he'd declared his neutrality and shut himself off from the world. He still comes to meetings, naturally, but he refuses to take sides and is happy now. But there are days he misses being a husband, a lover and friend. And every year, Valentine's Day gifts are sent to his exes, and every year they call to say thank you. He still remembers loving them, and a part of him always will. He's told nobody this. But they all know.